Maybe I Don't Want to Know
by tonsostuff
Summary: And he walks away, his heart heavy. He does not know where he is heading. He does not even recognize the person he's become anymore. Maybe he doesn't want to know.
1. Maybe I Don't Want to Know

Bleak.

That would pretty much sum up the entire week. Bleak, bleak, bleak.

He turns the dry brown leaf over in his hand, examining each and every curve, each outline and vein.

He breaks the leaf.

It isn't quite anger that he feels now. It's more of...almost betrayal. Sadness.

Maybe he'd expected it all along.

He crumbles the leaf into pieces and leaves.

_I know you aren't standing in front of me anymore_

At dinner, he sees her. His heart wells up with memories.

She's chatting happily, a few strands of her blonde hair lifted up in the wind. In the firelight, her hair looks reddish gold. Dancing flames reflect in her gray eyes.

It sends a pang through him as he sits as his table, alone, as usual. Poking his fork at his food, he watches as she stands up, laughing at some joke that she has heard, a joke he is probably never going to hear uttered from her lips. She and a few friends move away.

Grover slides in next to him with a few tin cans and begins to talk. He doesn't listen.

He spends the rest of dinner staring at the empty spot at the other table.

_We had it all_

He's lying on his bed, flipping through the scrapbook. He didn't put it together, he didn't have the patience. Tyson did. It's a book of all of their memories. Hippocampi. A black pegasus. Pan. The Empire State Building. A blue cake. A sand dollar.

A single unattached photo falls out. Tyson must've forgotten to stick it on properly. Odd. Tyson doesn't seem the type to do that. He flips through his messy room, looking for a glue stick. Or tape. Or whatever.

It takes him a while. Finally, he rips off a few pieces of duct tape and lifts the picture.

It's her. Smiling, laughing. The Parthenon is behind her, no wonder. Her arm is around him. He looks happy.

He winces.

He sticks the duct tape to the side of the bed and puts the scrapbook away.

He turns off the light.

The picture falls to the ground.

_Aren't memories supposed to fade?_

The wind whips through his hair but there is no fear. Not here.

The black body beneath him holds him up. This place is neutral. No fear.

Just...emptiness. Numbness. Darkness.

There is no smile on his face. There is no need to keep up the facade. Some things just don't seem to matter anymore.

At least, not here. Not when he is alone.

It seems like he has been alone quite frequently these past few days.

He doesn't mind anymore. He used to.

"Come on, Blackjack." His voice is barely a whisper. "A little faster."

He just wants to forget.

_My life is on a dime_

He doesn't know what to do, so somehow he's ended up back here again.

He feels consumed by his thoughts. Forget. Forget. His life has become that. A plan to forget everything.

So here he is again.

He uncaps his sword and watches as it shimmers to life. He can't look at it for too long, or he'll see his reflection go back to what he used to be.

His fingers wrap around the leather grip and he slashes.

The dummy falls to the ground.

He remembers Luke's bitter words and how he did the same. Maybe, just maybe, he could understand that.

What is wrong with him?

He slashes again and again and again until his vision is blurred and tinted with red. He slashes until the dummy is no more than bits and pieces of unknown material.

And he continues, slashing and slashing until he cuts himself on his leg. And even then, the pain feels good and he does it again and again until finally, the sword falls out of his hand. He stumbles and for the first time, he realizes what he is doing.

_What is wrong with me?_

Those are his last thoughts before he blacks out.

_Everything could break at any time_

Chocolate chip cookies.

That is his waking thought.

He blinks, the room spinning sickeningly around him. He wants to vomit but the taste of chocolate chip cookies comes back. The taste soothes him.

Until he remembers...

He sits upright in bed so much that the nectar spills on him. Chocolate chip cookies. The first time he talked to her...kind of. Not really. But still.

She's sitting next to him now, an odd expression on her face. Half in concern half in...he can't pinpoint it. Something else.

"Are you alright? Should I call Chiron?"

"No." His voice is firm, though he feels like he's falling apart. "No, I'm fine. Just go. Please."

She looks almost hurt. A wave of emotion hits him. She shouldn't look hurt. He's the one who's hurt. He's the one that's gone through all of this.

"Just go."

She leaves and he flops back down on his pillow.

He cries.

_In the end, is anything even real?_

He's released the next day with long scars on his legs that will never fade. People stare. They've probably never seen blood before.

He wonders who found him. They shouldn't have. They should've left him there. Then maybe he wouldn't have had to deal with this.

He walks back to his room and lays down. He can't deal with all of this. He just wants things to go back to normal.

He thinks of chocolate chip cookies and his mother. He thinks of never coming back.

He knows the thought won't last.

_I want to disappear_

He's better now and he knows it. He smiled yesterday, just once. A real smile, one he didn't notice until later on after reflection.

Think about that. He does reflection now. He never did reflection before.

It's odd how some things change you.

He's better now. He's gotten over it. Not completely. Maybe partially. He's gotten...almost back to being normal. Almost.

He just has to do something else, one last thing.

He doesn't want to do it.

Grover would tell him to. But he doesn't want to listen. Not this time.

He draws his sword for the first time in two weeks.

Maybe it will help him think.

_And pretend that nothing's real_

As he approaches the arena, he sees her standing there, leaning against a pole. Her foot is making some sort of design in the dirt, possibly for another building she's planning. He's almost tempted to ask her what it's about but he isn't interested in a long conversation. He isn't interested in any conversation.

She looks up as he comes nearer and pushes a lock of her hair back. "I knew you'd be here."

There is no response. There is nothing he can say to make things normal.

"Percy," she calls.

He sees her mouth move but he doesn't want to respond. He nods and moves away.

"Percy."

He does not answer.

"Percy, please."

Please. Why should he feel obliged to talk to her? Yet, he does. He wants to. He needs to.

What a weak person he is.

"I know we drifted apart. I know we're not as close as before. But please. Listen. I can explain."

I can explain.

_I can explain_.

The words sting him and he whips around. His eyes are cold, he can tell by the way she steps back in shock. She's never seen him this way. He's never seen himself this way.

He doesn't particularly care.

"You can explain?" The words are bubbling out of him now. "You can _explain_? I can explain a lot of things. I can explain why my mother bakes blue cakes. I can explain why Pan had to die. I can explain why a hero's fate is tragic. I can explain why Luke Castellan did what he did. I can explain why about so many things, Annabeth. So many things that you don't know. But will that make them better? Will explaining help me relate?"

"Yes." The firmness yet gentleness in her voice has no impact on him. "Yes, Percy. I can make you understand. Things can go back to normal."

It's tempting, really, to give into her. But he does not want to listen. Not at all.

"Normal? You abandoned me." The words come out cracked. "You left me behind. I tried, Annabeth. I waited. You said you wanted space. I gave it to you. You said you wanted time. I gave you month after month after month. But what did I get out of it? Nothing.

"You say you want things to be normal. They will never be normal again."

"Percy. Give me a chance." She's desperate now, he can tell it by the way she's taking steps towards him as if this will help her. "Please."

"I'm sorry Annabeth. I'm done with waiting. I'm done with secrets. I'm done with you leaving and not caring enough to tell me you still care. I'm done with being the only one trying to hold up the sky."

"Please." There are tears in her eyes now. "Just listen, Percy, listen!"

"I was always listening." His voice is quieter now. "I've been listening, waiting, hoping for the past three months. Hoping you'd come around. Hoping the girl I knew and loved would reappear. _I was always listening_."

The words seem to stun her.

"And I decided. I'm not going to sit around anymore. Because maybe, just maybe, I don't want to know. I don't want to know anymore."

He puts his sword out in front of him and he can see the fear in her eyes. She's already watched the love of her life die before, she's fought him for the sake of the world and he knows that while she will crumble inside, she will do it again if that's what it takes. But this time, it is to save herself. Not the world. Not him. There is no more him. Just her. And she is not sure she can do it.

The cap appears in his hands and he touches it to the sword. The fear in her eyes fades. "Perc-"

"I'm done." He cuts her off. "I'm done with this. I don't know you anymore, Annabeth. I don't know me. And I'm not coming back until I find exactly who I am." He turns away, not wanting to see her face now, nor ever again.

"I'm sorry." The words seem to push themselves out of his mouth involuntarily. "Goodbye."

And he walks away, his heart heavy. He does not know where he is heading. He does not even recognize the person he's become anymore.

Maybe he doesn't want to know.

_I think of the possibilities, that just maybe_

_And I turn away_

_Because maybe_

_Maybe I don't want to know_

* * *

Author's Note: So, was it good or bad? Please leave me a review to tell me your thoughts!

On another note, I might make this a separate story on its own, though chances are probably not since I have so much work already that I haven't finished. Drop me a note so I can determine what's best!

~ tonsostuff


	2. Mistakes

"_Everyone makes mistakes. It's what you do about it that makes the difference."_

She never told him.

It has taken her years before she is willing to admit the truth to herself. It's an obvious matter and one would think that in the light of someone that they loved, it would be easy to admit. But she hasn't and now it was too late.

It had been a fairly ordinary day until she realizes the date. It strikes her suddenly as she signs off a paper regarding the newest bridge and pathways she has been constructing to ease the traffic in New York. She'd looked at her watch to remember the date when it hit her like a ton of bricks.

And that has led her to sitting here. On her couch. Alone.

She looks outside. She knows some of her friends were out there celebrating. Celebrating the end of the war and perhaps just as importantly—his birthday.

It had been years. Years and years and years. And it is only now that she can admit the truth to herself.

A long time ago, the Sirens had sung to her of her fatal flaw: _hubris_. For a while, she thought she had conquered her pride, at least to the point where it wasn't as big of a problem. But then it crept in again. It snuck back in, first chipping away at the corners of the perfect world she had built around herself and then eventually eclipsing her life. Except this was an eclipse that she hadn't predicted.

How could she have been so foolish?

Because in the end, the Sirens were right. It was her pride, her fatal flaw that had destroyed not only her, but the one man she cared about the most. Her fatal flaw.

_And by the time I turn around, my life's half gone_

For the longest time, she blamed it on her mother.

After all, if Athena had never appeared before her, battered and broken, she would never have dreamed of going on a dangerous quest to Rome. She would never have left, would never have drifted away or apart or anywhere.

It had all started with the subway. And the coin. And...

She's doing it again. She buries her head in her hands, resisting the urge to scream. She is twenty-seven. It has been ten years. The fact that she still can't let go of her pride hurts her more than she can confess. She always believed she could do anything if she tried hard enough. So why can't she let go of her pride?

Images flash in her mind. Her mother, worn down and lost. The cold coin, pressed into her hand. The sharp engravings, the Mark of Athena. The planning. And the journey...

But most of all, the aftermath. Because sometimes, the destination _did_ matter more than the journey. Especially when the destination left you bruised and twisted and a faint shadow of who you were and could've been.

_And everything I've ever done has faded from my sight_

She blames fate as well. Not to mention Aphrodite. You could toss Hera in without Annabeth's objection.

It felt like everything had conspired against her. Her attempts to talk with Percy again. Her horror at what he'd done to himself. The shocked and broken look in his eyes...has it all been her fault? No, it is everything else. She has never believed in destiny, but she didn't doubt that Aphrodite was twisting her love life up, no doubt with Hera's approval.

It's like everything is collapsing around her. The walls she had built up, the permanent things in her life. Camp Half-Blood. Chiron. Him. The smiles and joy wash over her, crashing into her with a wave of pain.

Everything she'd worked for, everything that she had built with her own hands. No one in his right mind would ever choose to bring that down.

_And I'm searching for an answer, one I will never find_

Finally, and perhaps most shamefully, she blames him.

She's told herself over more than one bottle of wine that if only he had noticed...if only he'd tried more, to get through to her, to _ask_ her, than maybe things would've turned out differently. After all, she can't be the only one responsible, can she? She wouldn't willing choose her own destruction, especially if it meant that he was taken down with her.

Or maybe, if he'd tried to hear her out it would've ended differently. The day she'd been willing for him to come back to her. The day she'd been okay. The day she'd been willing to admit everything she'd been hiding.

But then she remembers. How she told him to stay away, to give her space. He'd only been trying...trying to stay away. To do what she asked. Out of respect? Out of love? She doesn't know. She never will now.

So there only leaves one more person to blame. Herself.

_And in the end, I am the only one left._

She is lying on her side now, the tears she held in trickling out of the corner of her eyes.

The remembering is hard, but she pushes on. If she could destroy her life, she should've been smart enough to know she'd have to remember it.

The only image that she can see in her mind is his face. His eyes...not cold, but haunted. Broken. Desperate for an answer, yet not wanting one. Eyes that were once brilliantly green with hope that have shattered into despair.

_I was always listening._

She squeezes her eyes shut, a choked cry rising from her chest. How could she not have noticed?

Because in the end, it was her fault. Her pride. Her inability to accept help. All she wanted was for things to be okay. For him to be okay. And she'd thought that maybe keeping him in the dark had been the best way to do so. But in the end...

She'd only hurt him. Hurt him more than any monster could hurt him. And finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to know. He just wanted out.

And she'd let him go.

She closes her eyes, remembering how he walked away. The way his shoulders had sagged, like he'd finished a great battle but lost too much along the way to revel in the glory. And the day after that, when she'd looked for him only to find his bunk stripped of everything that had once been. But not just that. Perhaps what had hurt the most was the pictures of him and her, the smiles and laughter and joy. Not in the trash can, like someone who was angry might do. No, they were stacked on his table. Stacked, neatly, organized from oldest to newest.

It was looking at those bunks that she'd realized he wasn't coming back. Not for her. Not for anyone. Just like she'd failed to be there for him when he needed her, he was now leaving her.

She reaches behind the couch, feeling around for the old photographs, ones she has not touched in three years. They look the same as they did ten years ago in his cabin. Full of happy memories. Memories he wouldn't burn, but wouldn't keep. Memories he left behind.

If she'd told him about her quest...would things be different? Would these memories not just be hers to keep, but his as well? Would they be happy? Would they have children? These are questions she has not asked herself, because she has been unwilling to admit that it has been her all along who has destroyed everything there was between the two of them. But now, she embraces the "what ifs." She has lost everything she cared about...it is the most she can do now.

Would she be smiling? She looks at the kitchen table, bare of anything that resembles a decoration. Would they be sitting around that table? Or would it be bigger, homier? Would there be flowers? Would she be cooking? Would their kids be talking and jumping? Would there be a dog? A cat? Their friends? Would she be taking a cake out of the oven, smiling?

Would she be happy? Would they be happy?

The questions that she has bottled up for ten years come rushing out of her. Would Poseidon come visit? Would Athena (grudgingly) approve? Would he kiss her on the lips or the cheek when he arrived back home? What job would he have gotten? The same job he did now, or something completely different?

Or would things have fallen flat? Were they destined to be apart?

She sits there as the questions, questions she has never answered and probably never will, fill the room. But there are no answers. Any chance of receiving answers died ten years ago. This room will never be filled with children, or happiness, or birthday cakes. She will never kiss him on the cheek or on his lips. He will never ask her how her day went. She will not fuss away for hours and hours in the kitchen.

Maybe it is for the best. She will never have to change diapers, or receive calls from the school about the latest mischief her children have gotten into. She will feel no disappointment for anyone other than herself. She will never mess up the turkey for Thanksgiving or forget the stuffing or overcook the gravy.

But she wouldn't have minded. She wouldn't have minded waking up at three to stumble to her daughter's room or to rush around the house screaming that the dog had eaten her toothbrush. She wouldn't have minded it if he'd been there, laughing at her and falling on his face alongside her.

Her bedroom door creaks and it reminds her that reality is very different from the futures she has imagined. This room will forever remain empty. Cold. Silent.

Her eyes drift over to the corner of the room. Her eyes land on her home phone, a phone that never rings, though she often hopes it will.

A million thoughts flash through her mind. It has been so long. It has been ten years. Their friendship, their relationship, is ancient history. There is nothing left.

She stands up, almost as if in a trance.

It has been ten years. Their friendship, their relationship, is ancient history. There is nothing left. And there is nothing left to lose.

She picks up the phone.

* * *

Author's Note:

So in case it wasn't clear (it probably isn't, it's almost two AM here), Annabeth went on a version of the quest for Athena's statue. Athena told Annabeth she had to travel alone and Annabeth, who knew Percy would want to accompany her, decided to keep it a secret. She was afraid of Percy accidentally finding out, so she distanced herself. Her pride blocked her off from Percy and it resulted in the ending of their relationship, as seen in the previous chapter.

I wasn't planning on writing this part. It was before the Mark of Athena came out and this was just my take of the quest. But sometime this week, someone reviewed my story and it just made me remember a different review, asking for Annabeth's point of view. I'd sorta forgotten why she'd been distant from Percy, but I suddenly remembered a few days ago.

This was tough to write. I was using past tense until I reread the original chapter and was like...well then. It probably sounds a bit awkward, since I was using both present and past tense alternatively to signify memories and present day.

The ending, to me, is a sign of hope. Hope that Annabeth and Percy will get back together. Hope that things will turn out alright. I don't usually end sad stories like this on a happy note, but I do love Percabeth and I feel that they deserve a chance. It is also really marking the point where Annabeth admits her pride and gives in, making the first step to apologizing. I leave it for you to decide though, what happens. If Percy has a wife, if they are living the life Annabeth is remembering and craving. Or if he too has been haunted by his departure and wondering.

Thank you for reading and please review!


End file.
